


Papa

by AllannaStone



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, I wnet through and did some major editing, father/ daughter, set one year before the Jack the Ripper DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5755945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllannaStone/pseuds/AllannaStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years. That's how long Jacob had been punishing himself for his wife and unborn child's murder. But redemption is a funny thing, especially when it takes the form of a redhead assassin who resembles his late wife a great deal.</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

                London, 1887

               

                Forty year old Sir Jacob Frye growled as he gave chase to the Templar who had disrupted the brawl between the schoolboys.

                _Damn it all, I’m getting too old for this_ , he wheezed as he put on a final burst of speed and tackled the Templar, who went down with a high pitched squeal of surprise.

                The Templar swung a sloppy hook at him, which he dodged before grabbing the Templar’s arm and pinning it before slamming them up to the wall. He bought his fist up and punched them full in the face before ripping off their hood to see the life drain from their eyes before he stabbed them with his lethal hidden blades.

                Jacob felt the color in his face drain.

                The Templar was a young woman of about fifteen years of age, with dark red curls that had escaped a tight braid that trailed down her shoulder and halted at her waist. Her sapphire blue eyes were filled with a spitfire defiance as she glared up at the master assassin, her muscles tensed up to fight him when awarded the opportunity.

                “Well?” she snapped. “Do you have the guts to kill a defenseless lady or not?”

                In his moment of shock, Jacob released her and stumbled backa few steps, leaving her with an opportunity to kick him in the knee, making him collapse with a loud yelp of pain.

                “’Go outside’, papa said, ‘you’ll have fun’, papa said” she growled mockingly before turning to leave Jacob, however the master assassin was too quick for her. He leapt up and tackled her yet again, this time, landing on top of her and knocking her out by applying pressure to her wind pines.

                She hung in his arms like a limp rag doll as he ran across the roofs of London before arriving at the train station, where he swung onto Bertha, who was waiting patiently for him to board her.

He stomped past a small cluster of Rooks, all who stared at their boss with confused looks on their faces as he swept past them all, carrying the small boned girl in his arms. Jacob ignored them all as he made his way towards his car. He laid the girl on his bed gently before smoothing down her hair with a loving hand.

                “You’re never leaving me ever again,” he whispered tenderly before leaving the car to go find a washcloth to wipe away the dried blood on her face.

~xoXox~

_London, 15 years ago, 1872_

_“Anna?” Jacob called out, entering the modestly sized home that he shared with his wife, Anna. His wide smile turned into a horrified frown when he reached the front parlor._

_There was blood spattered on the sofa and the table where he kept his close combat fighting knives had been tipped over, with one knife poking out of a dead Templar._

_Panic began to blossom inside the man’s chest as he searched the dead Templar for answers._

_He only found a coded note, which his quick mind decoded in less than a minute. He stood with the note crumpled in his hands_

_“Don’t worry, Anna; I’m coming for you,” he promised his wife in a grim voice before speeding off into the night._

~xoXox~

I woke with a soft gasp, but kept my eyes shut when I registered that I was being carried.  My nose picked up the unfamiliar scents of pine, leather and a muskiness that belonged to a man. I lolled my head back and he paused long enough to shift me into a more comfortable position in his arms before leaping from what I assumed was a roof.

My heart jumped up into my throat, but I was used to the sensation of being carried by a freerunner. My papa had taken me out for runs around London when I couldn’t fall asleep.

_Papa._

He would be furious that I had been defeated by an Assassin. And now I was being kidnapped as well.

After another five minutes of leaping from one horizontal surface to another, he boarded a train and set me down on a bed. A frown appeared in my eyebrows as he carefully smoothed the curls that had escaped my braid out of my face and behind an ear.

                “You’re never leaving me ever again,” he whispered softly before leaving the room.

The second I heard his footsteps die away, I jumped up from the bed and took in my surroundings. There was a door, which I assumed that the assassin had vanished through. I darted over to it and pressed my ear to it, listening for anyone who would turn me in. Hearing no one, I quickly made my way over towards the lone window, pushing aside junk that laid scatter on a dresser directly underneath. I vaulted onto the dresser and shoved open the window before clamboring up onto the roof, pulling on my hood as I went.

And just in time too!

Just as I jumped out the window, I heard two sets of footsteps thundering towards the car.

I crouched on top of the train car, focusing my sights on a bridge that was coming up fast. I roughly calculated the math in my head and quickly came to the conclusion that based on the speed the train was traveling at, I could jump up and climb my way onto the bridge, then bolt for home, no problem at all.

“ _That curiosity of yours is going to be the downfall of you_ ,” my papa had told me on several different occasions while I was growing up. My first memory was of when I was four or five years old.

 _“Why aren’t there any drawings of mama around?”_ I had asked papa. I was curious as to where I had gotten my red curls from. Papa was grey haired, going bald very quickly and I hardly thought that he had been a redhead in his youth.

Papa had taken me upon his knee and told me in his somber voice that he was actually my grandfather, and that mama had passed away shortly after I had been born. He had been so broken hearted over the death of his only child that he had failed to think of hiring an artist to capture her beauty as she laid in her coffin.

I could see the sadness in his eyes, even all these years later.

 “She’s gone!” the man shouted upon barging into the room.

I rolled my eyes. Real observant, that one was.

“I can see that, Jacob,” a woman commented in a dry tone of voice.

I felt my stomach drop.

 _Jacob_?

Jacob Frye, the leader of the Rooks?

Who was the woman with him?

What was going on here?

I listened closely, praying that some pieces of the puzzle would click into place for me.

“She looked just like my Anna,” Jacob whispered in a tired voice. “It was scary, the resemblance.”

“Jacob, are you sure that you even saw her?” the woman asked in a soft voice. “You always get really surly around this time of the year…”

“I carried her, Ned! Could I make that up?” Jacob snapped angrily.

I heard someone crossing the small room and I bolted, not looking up as someone shouted out.

“Fuck it, Jacob! She was listening to us!” Ned yelled as I ran towards the fornt of the train and leapt, my hand catching onto the bridge. I quickly shimmied my way up before leaping onto the bridge and making my way through the streets of London at a neckbreaking sprint, avoiding being hit by carriages and even ducking underneath one to be given a free ride for a few streets before I rolled out from underneath, my hood down so that I could blend in better with the people out on the streets.

I jogged before coming to papa’s home in the upper middle class district. I didn’t even pause to glance around as I went inside.

~xoXox~

_London, 15 years ago, 1872_

_A loud shriek of pain echoed throughout the hidden room as a man with sleeves rolled up to his elbows knelt besides a woman with red curls and blue eyes, who was in labor._

_“One more push!” he told her in a soft voice, wiping her brow with a wet towel._

_“I can’t!” she wailed tiredly._

_“You have to,” he told her and mustering up the last of her strength, she gave out one last cry and out slid a bawling newborn infant._

_“It’s a daughter,” the man told her, frowning as more blood rushed out from her. He handed her the child and turned his attention to stopping the blood._

_“Rosemary,” whispered the dying woman with a weak smile. She kissed her daughter before closing her eyes with a blissful smile gracing her lips._

_The man made the sign of the cross before taking the child from the woman’s arms and standing with sadness._

_“Rest in peace, my dear little Anna,” the man whispered before leaving the hidden room._

~xoXox~

Jacob swore as he lost sight of the girl for a moment before spotting her bright red hair bouncing through the crowd of grays and browns. She had stopped running and was now stepping with what appeared to be happily confident steps. Jacob followed her as she turned into a modestly large home in the middle class part of London and walked in the front door.

Jacob switched his Eagle vision on and followed the girl’s blue figure as he jumped onto a tree that was outside an open window.

He crept inside the house and soon came to outside her bedroom door, where he could make out her voice and an older man, speaking about something.

“Rosemary, there’s something I need to tell you, dear child,” the man began in a somber voice.

Jacob looked into the room and saw that it was decorated tastefully for a young woman.

 _Rosemary_ , he mused. _A pretty name for my daughter..._

“What is it, papa?” Rosemary asked in a curious voice.

Jacob clenched his fists.

His daughter should be calling him that, not him!

 “I was eager for revenge against a man,” he began. “So to lure him out, I had three of my best men kidnap his wife. Unfortunately, they were rough on her and when she was bought to me, to my horror, I saw that she was heavily with child.”

Jacob heard Rosemary’s deep intake of breath and he felt blood beginning to drip down his hand from where his fingernails were digging into his palm.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have ordered them to frighten her out of her wits, but she being the brave soul that she was, she had killed one of my men and was giving the other two hell by the time I got downstairs…”

~xoXox~

_Anna tried to escape yet again, only to be smacked down._

_Again._

_But a loud crack had her pressing her hands to her stomach protectively as she glanced up at the man who held the smoking six shot revolver handgun in one hand. He turned the gun onto the last man standing who was holding her down. She shut her eyes and turned her head in time to avoid the gruesome sight of cold blooded murder._

_“Papa?” she whispered in a shaky voice, embracing her father, Grand Master of the Templar Order, John Wood._

_“Anna, you’re with child,” he stated in shock, staring down at his daughter’s plump belly._

_“Jacob loves me and I love him!” she stated with hysteria in her voice._

_“Come, I’ll return you- those idiots grabbed you by mistake…” he was lying fluently in between his teeth._

_She gasped, her hand grabbing his arm for balance, her other hand flying to her swollen stomach._

_“The baby’s coming,” she whispered in a faint voice._


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosemary runs from Jacob

I looked up as someone burst into my room. My eyes widened at the assassin who had kidnapped me.

“Frye,” papa greeted him in a tired voice, not even budging to defend himself.

“You took my wife and my child away from me,” growled Frye, flicking out his hidden blade before crossing the room at a neck brake speed and plunging it into papa’s chest. “You murdered my wife with your carelessness.” Papa gurgled something before his eyes rolled up. “You kept my child from me for fifteen years.”

I stood there in shocked silence, my hands pressed up against my mouth in horror.

And then Frye turned to me. In sheer terror, I turned and ran, aware that he was close on my heels.

“Get away from me, you murderer!” I shrieked when he spun me around and pinned me to his chest in a hug. I tried to squirm my way out of his iron tight grip on me.

“Rosemary…” he breathed. “You look just like your mother…”

I finally broke free by punching him where it counts and tried to dart away, only to find out that he was too fast for me.

“Take it easy, I won’t hurt you,” he tried to sooth me.

“How should I believe you?” I growled at him. “You murdered my papa who raised me in cold blood!”

“If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else,” he answered with a shrug. I could see the hurt in his eyes at me calling the man he murdered “papa”.

“How can you be so uncaring?” I asked him, staring up at him in disbelief.

“It’s part of an Assassin’s training,” he answered me, embracing me yet again. Good Lord, this man sure did like to hug. Me, I wasn’t too big on personal contact.

“I’m a Templar, not an Assassin!” I spat at him with fury lacing my voice.

“Had you killed in the name of the Templars?” he asked me in a dry voice. My only answer was to shake my head once before staring off at the side, at anything but the murderer in front of me. “Then there’s still hope for you.”

“And what do you mean by that?” I hissed, finally yanking myself from his tight embrace.

But before he could open his mouth, someone yelled his name and that proved to be all the distraction that I needed. I nailed him in the groin (again) and bolted.

I practically flew down the abandoned streets of London, nicking a few shortcuts that I knew of to throw him off my back.

I didn’t dare stop, not even to apologize to shady people who I mowed over. They all seemed to know that I was trying to escape someone so for the most part, they all stayed out of my way.

I scrambled up a fire escape and tore off, leaving behind a faint imprint of myself as I leapt from one building to the next, my strong legs carrying me farther than ever.

I kept on jumping, even when I reached the wealthy upper class area of London. I flew onto the rooftop of the opera house, where I paused for a few moments to check and see if I had lost him. When I was certain that he was gone, I ducked inside the lavish building, removing my hood as I went inside.

“Hey there, little star!” greeted one of the night stagehands at recognizing me.

“Joe,” I returned the greeting with a stiff smile before balancing on the catwalk and walking out towards the house, where I plunked myself onto on the crossbeams, my legs dangling as I closed my eyes.

“Hey what are you-”

Joe’s voice stopped suddenly and I slowly stood back up to see Frye lowering a blowpipe from his mouth.

 _He’d better not have killed him, Joe’s the only one who isn’t afraid of the opera ghost to stay up all night and guard the opera house from prowlers_ , I growled to myself as I stayed up the in catwalk, silent and still as a mouse. I was happy that ladder which led up into the catwalk had been pulled up, leaving the assassins with the beautiful illusion that there was no one up here.

He searched the opera house for the best part of two hours but never found me.

Until a spider dropped down onto my hand.

I yowled loudly before falling from the catwalk, trying to slay the furry beast. The loud racket was enough to bring Frye tearing out from behind the stage where he had been disrupting the carefully positioned scenery and props for tomorrow’s show.

# “Spiders,” I shuddered, squishing the demon underneath my boot. “They should be destroyed, every last one of them, pesky little things that like to jump out onto me at the most inconvenient times!” I continued to mutter as I swatted away at my clothes, making sure that more hadn’t creeped into my clothes while I wasn’t paying any attention. “I got the lead in _Artaxerxes_ and right as I’m doing my solo song, a giant eight legged beast decides that would be the perfect opportunity to make me go an entire fricking three octaves higher! Oh hey, I know! How about that time when I was meeting with the manager of this fine establishment? I had no clue- no fucking clue at all- that the ring he wore was a petrified spider! The damn thing looked fucking ass real!”

No doubt about it- I was as pissed as a kicked over fire ant hill as I continued to rant and rave about the evilness of spiders. Frye was staring at me as though I’ve gone bonkers and was close to tears from laughing so hard.

Eventually I calmed down enough to where I was staring at him with slit eyes.

“Did you kill Joe?” I growled. “Because if you did, I am not blaming his murder on the opera ghost!”

“It was just a knockout dart,” Frye told me in a calm voice. “He’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache, but he isn’t dead.”

“He’d better not be,” I repeated myself. “Otherwise I’ll be pointing the blame towards you Assassins!”

“Opera ghost?” Frye looked like his didn’t know what to feel- terrified or humored.

I lowered my voice down to a creepy whisper as I told the tale.

“No one knows where he comes from- if he was an unlucky construction worker who helped build the opera house and was met with a tragic death, or if he had once been one of many performers who had met an untimely death onstage. He enjoys pranks, like switching up the props during opening night and swapping the chorus girl’s costumes right before a quick change. But, there is also a more… sinister side to him.” Here I paused dramatically. “There once was a stagehand by the name of Alfred who enjoyed peeking in on the chorus girls while they were changing and drinking on the job. One night, during opening night of a newly written opera, Alfred hung himself right over the dancers. Right where you’re standing.” I pointed my eyes towards Frye, who yelped and took a few steps away from where he had been standing. “I had been there that night, six years ago. I had seen his lifeless body as it was carried out of the opera house. I had even seen the noose which was used to kill him. It was a Punjab lasso- and Alfred didn’t know how to make one.”

I could tell that my tale was both intriguing and freaking Frye out.

“I met him,” I confessed. “I was eight years old and excited to be starting as a stagehand for the opera house. I had taken a wrong turn somewhere and was hopelessly lost in the maze of corridors that make up the backstage storage area. I had been crying, quite loudly, I suppose, when a violin’s voice began to beckon me forward. I followed the wondrous music, and soon found myself in the orchestra pit. I had asked the conductor who had been playing the violin, and he himself informed me that there wasn’t a violin in the orchestra pit for the show. But it wasn’t until later did I hear the tale of the opera ghost and put two and two together.” I chuckled. “I stayed on his good side by not whistling while I worked, singing instead, wishing performers to ‘break a leg’ instead the other way around, by addressing William Shakespeare’s finest work as ‘the Scottish play’, never walking over the ballet girl’s legs when they sit in straight lines with their feet all over the place…” Here I chuckled at the childish innocence that my memories were reminding me off. “I even left plates of food out for the opera ghost. With me being a young lass of nine years old didn’t understand that ghosts couldn’t eat. I would also talk to the opera ghost, telling him about what I learned that day in my schoolings and what rumors were spreading about the opera house at the moment. He never said anything back to me, but I could always tell that he was listening to me.”

Just then, the candles were blown out by a draft that had entered the opera house and I took that moment to try and escape by climbing back into the catwalk. But a hand latched onto my ankles, sending me falling into strong arms with a loud grunt.

I squinted in the darkness and could barely make out the face of Frye, who was cradling me like I was a babe.

“Put me down!” I hissed, aiming a punch at his nose, which he avoided nimbly. Then something pricked my neck and I grew sleepy.


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosemary and Jack meet and talk

**Papa**

**I do not own Assassin’s Creed.**

**SUMMARY:**

**Fifteen years. That’s how long Jacob had been punishing himself for his wife and unborn child’s murder. But redemption is a funny thing, especially when it takes the form of a redhead assassin who resembles his late wife a great deal.**

Jacob smiled at his daughter, peacefully asleep in his arms, as he jumped from building to building. He were both returning to board Bertha for the night and Jacob knew that Rosemary would be tired after spending most of the day trying to evade him.

So when he finally stepped into his room, he gently placed her onto his bed, still unmade from a week ago, and pulled off her boots before drawing the covers up to her chin. He removed all her weapons and placed them on top of his bookcase, knowing that because of her petite height, she wouldn’t be able to reach and inflict any damage.

“Sweet dreams, my dear daughter,” he whispered before checking that the window was locked and that the key was next to the shilling that he wore around his neck before exiting the room and quietly shutting the door behind him.

He trotted down the stairs, almost running into someone.

“Jack? What are you doing up here?” Jacob growled, a bit overprotective of his daughter- that is, he was guessing that Jack was on his way up to go speak to her.

“This fell off of her, I was just going to return it,” Jack commented in a dead calm voice, holding up a bracelet that Jacob knew at first glance.

“I’ll give it to Rosemary when she wakes,” he told him in a gruff voice before accepting the bracelet from the twenty year old lad and jumping on top of a table to give out an announcement. “Listen up, Rooks! That girl that you all saw me carrying up those stairs is my daughter. No one is to go near her without my say so. Is that understood?”

~xoXox~

I woke up suddenly at a loud chorus of cheers that was ringing throughout the room that I was situated in. I sat up, the blankets falling away as I moved and crawled out of bed, cracking my knuckles and my neck as I padded to grab my boots. I wandered over to the window and tried to open it, only to discover that it was locked.

“Fuck it all,” I swore softly, leaning my forehead against the cool window pane. I peered around the small room and found myself thinking of Frye.

My father.

I sighed as I raked a hand through my hair, which had totally escaped the braid that I had forced my curls into only that morning.

And with a start, I realized that my wrist felt lighter.

“Mama’s bracelet!” I gasped before dropping to the floor and beginning to nose underneath each pile that covered the floorboards.

When I couldn’t find it, I began to panic. I pushed up a sleeve of my blouse and picked open a scab, biting back the tears that threatened to fall. I wasn’t inflicting true pain on myself, but this would have to do until I could get my hands on my hidden blades again.

I suddenly picked up the sounds of footsteps coming towards me. I panicked and rolled down my sleeve once more before jumping back up to my feet and positioning myself for a fight, if needed be.

The footsteps paused outside the door and a few slow knocks sounded.

I took a deep breath and crossed the room before opening the door a crack to see who it was.

“Can’t sleep?” a man with soft features and glasses asked me, and I held the door open for him. I shook my head, rubbing at my arm with my hand. “Jack said that you dropped this…”

He took my by the hand and slipped on mama’s bracelet. My eyes welled up with fresh tears, but I managed to keep them to myself.

“What’s your name?” was the next thing to pop out of my mouth.

“It’s Ned,” he chuckled before frowning as he pushing my sleeve up and gasped at the self harm scars that marked my arm.

I snatched my arm back and turned my back to him, this time allowing for the tears to fall.

“Rosemary.”

Ned finally spoke, his voice filled with certain emotions that I couldn’t identify.

“I just feel so lost,” I whispered through my tears. “My mama died while giving birth to me, my papa really isn’t my papa, my father is my enemy and- and- and my entire life was a lie this entire time!”

By this point, I was really blubbering. Ned just stared at me before I threw myself into his arms and began to cry into his jacket. He awkwardly placed his arms around me in a hug and found himself rubbing my back to help me calm down.

My sobs boiled down into hiccups and quiet sniffles before Ned peeled me away from him and held me at arm’s length.

“Feel better?” he asked warily.

“I’m thirsty,” I sniffled. “Whenever I’d cry, papa would make me drink a glass of water. Now when I cry, I feel thirsty.”

“Want me to get it for you?” Ned asked kindly.

I shook my head, hiccupping quietly. “I need to learn my way around anyways, don’t I?”

He nodded and off I went, hopping from car to car until I located the kitchen, where there was an icebox and a wood burning stove. I clucked as I found a glass and held it underneath the water faucet, collecting fresh water.

~xoXox~

Jack watched as Rosemary slipped out of Jacob’s car and flitted from car to car before vanishing into the kitchen. He watched her from the shadows and could tell when she had noticed him, judging by the tensing in her neck and shoulders.

He cleared his throat a few times before revealing himself, holding out his hands to show her that he was unarmed.

“Hello,” he greeted her in a soft voice. “It’s good to see you awake.”

She only raised an eyebrow in question before taking another drink from the glass that was in her hands.

“I’m Jack,” he introduced himself with a smile, taking a step into the light so that she could see him better and judge for herself if he was friend material.

After a minute of examining him, she relaxed and continued to drink her tall glass of water. She didn’t turn her back to him as she refilled the glass again and continued to drink. Her arm snaked out and grabbed an apple from the pile in the center of the chopping block and Jack knew that tomorrow, someone would be baking apple pies.

“See something you like, Jack?” Rosemary smirked, taking a bite out of the apple after rubbing it on her blouse.

Jack felt his cheeks heating up at her remark.

 _Damn it, she’s sharper than I gave her credit for_ , he swore to himself before motioning out to the main room, where they could sit at a table and talk.

Jack pulled out a chair for the fifteen year old girl to sit in before seating himself.

Rosemary tossed her unruly curls over her shoulder while she finished off the apple and the glass of water before leaning back in her chair and staring at Jack. Her jacket had been removed and now her blouse slipped over both shoulders, dipping dangerously low on her bosom. Rosemary, however, wasn’t aware of the fact that she was showing Jack her goods as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and staring up at him with a questioning look.

“What?” he asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“You’re the first guy I met who’s around my age and is actually kinda cute,” she admitted with a little giggle, leaning back, much to his disappointment. “How old are you?”

“Twnety,” he answered, resisting the urge to puff himself up.

“I’m fifteen, due to turn sixteen next week,” she offered him with a rare smile.

“What did you do on your birthdays?” Jack blurted out, biting his tongue at the sad look on Rosemary’s face. He wanted to make her happy, not make her sad.

“Well, since I was nine, everyone at the opera house would throw a mini celebration for me,” she admitted. “Everyone would come- even the manager and the prima donna and the writers of the operas. I’d get load of presents and we’d all eat cake and have a grand time. And then when I’d get home, papa would give me his gifts to me and we’d eat dinner- Italian, my favorite- and then he’d read me a bedtime story. Every year, even when I grew to be too old for fairy tales.” This last part, she whispered softly before having tears flood her eyes.

“Hey.” Jack knelt beside her and used his thumb to wipe away her tears. Rosemary sniffled and leaned her cheek into his hand, closing her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Please don’t cry…”

“You don’t know what to do with an ugly duckling?” she asked, sniffling as she drew away from his touch.

“You’re no ugly duckling,” Jack told her, directing her face towards his. The fact that they were only a breath away from their lips touching didn’t even register in his head. “You are a beautiful swan.”

“Swan are mean,” she stated in a whisper, feeling the stubble on his chin tickling his lips.

“Well then a peacock,” he decided.

“Are you calling me a trans?” she asked with a hint of laughter sparkling in her eyes.

Jack grew flustered before realizing that she was teasing him.

“What can I say?” she hiccupped, rubbing her arm and Jack realized that she was wearing her bracelet again.

“So I see that your bracelet was returned to you, safe and sound,” he awkwardly said, switching the subject.

Rosemary giggled, leaning forwards again.

“It belonged to my mama,” she explained in a soft voice, absentmindedly toying with the bead and stone bracelet. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I wish that she were still alive…”

She yawned, standing up to return to bed, only to find that she was so tired that her legs wouldn’t cooperate with her. With a grunt, she began to topple over only Jack, who was quick on his feet, caught her and carried her up to Jacob’s room.

“Goodnight, Rosemary,” he murmured softly, brushing back the curls that covered her forehead and watching as her tired blue eyes flutter shut in slumber.

~xoXox~

Jacob watched and listened as Rosemary and Jack talked. It tore his heart apart that his little girl had gone through so much and that she was confiding in a total stranger, not him.

He was hidden in the shadows and saw only Rosemary’s back as she told Jack about her past birthdays and about why she drank water when she cried. He felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as he mulled over what Rosemary had told Jack. He was so deep in thought that he almost missed when Jack carried her up to his room.

Almost.

Jacob followed closely behind like an overprotective mother hen as Jack carried her up the stairs and into his room. Jacob’s hackles lowered slightly when he saw the young man smooth the hair from her forehead and whisper something into her ear before turning to leave the room. He saw Jacob in the hallway and closed the door soundly before standing before the fearless leader with a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry Jacob, but from what I overheard you and your sister saying, she’s flight risk,” he explained himself. “I knew that if she ran off and I did nothing, you’d blame me.”

Jacob nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

“Watch her, won’t you?” his boss gruffly ordered him before turning to stalk off.


End file.
